


Without Contraries

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Series: Don't Call Me Brave [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire infuriates Enjolras, he's not entirely sure why.<br/>Well, he is.<br/>And Enjolras is torn between wanting to not see him again and wanting to study him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Contraries

Grantaire infuriates Enjolras. Not in the way Courfeyrac infuriates Enjolras when he's never serious, or the way Marius annoys him with his mooning over Cosette but he infuriates him.  
He's not entirely sure why.  
Well, he is. Grantaire is his opposite, he's cynical and sarcastic and grating and seems to want to argue at every opportunity. He drinks and Enjolras doesn't understand why. He's a pessimist for an unknown reason. He seems to want to undermine his every argument for no cause at all other than to be difficult.  
Enjolras is torn between wanting to not see him again and wanting to study him, learn everything about him and why he's the way he is.  
Above all he's indifferent. He knows the others enjoy Grantaire's company, knows they're all close and they all get along and so he tolerates his presence.  
He'll admit he sometimes enjoys the argument Grantaire provides, sometimes enjoys his company at social gatherings and his dry sense of humour. Which makes the situation rather more confusing.  
Sometimes he can't stand Grantaire, his brash personality, his cynicism and seeming desperation to find fault in any of his points. They can't sit in the same room without butting heads. Enjolras is harsh with him, without realising his words in the heat of the moment. He sets his jaw and meets eyes like ice and tells him if he's not going to contribute he might as well leave.  
Grantaire usually does, pressing his lips together. Enjolras always misses the looks in his eyes, the way Courfeyrac slips him his house key.  
One time Grantaire falls asleep, on his seat in the corner, Bahorel drapes his jacket over his shoulders and Enjolras wakes him later. Grantaire almost bolts upright, blinking wide eyes.  
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean- Deadlines..."  
"Cafe's closing. You should get going." Grantaire looks up at him and nods slowly.  
"Sure..."  
Its times like that he's not sure why Grantaire even bothers to come. He complains about being busy, but still comes along to meetings he loves to complain about and drinks his way through.  
When Marius shows up mooning over some girl Enjolras wants to move on, not that that would ever happen with Courfeyrac and Bossuet in the group. Grantaire stands up and raises a toast, Enjolras counters with a toast to the cause but goes unheard as Marius describes the girl - who remains un-named, in precise detail, but Grantaire's eyes remain on him as he tries to get back onto topic and pay more attention than anyone else even as he makes further jokes and eggs Marius on.  
His eyes are always there, strangely focussed despite the drink slipping between his lips. They're icy blue and follow him as he paces and talks. He glances down as Enjolras glances up, or else interjects with blue fire sparking, leaning over the table. His fingers are always stained, with inks and paints and charcoal and drum out rhythms on the table top without even realising. His hair is dark, curling and chaotic - a representation perhaps of the man himself - and usually has paint running through it where he gets distracted as he works.  
He's glad Grantaire's close to the others. It means there's someone there to look after him when he insists on getting drunk for any number of reasons he refuses to share. It means Enjolras can worry just a little less about Grantaire simply dropping off the face of the Earth.  
Enjolras never acknowledges this. He'd never admit even to himself that some of the worry he shares amongst his friends extends to the man set to undermine them. He'd be less likely to admit that he'd miss the cynical remarks, that they might help him in some way, strengthen his arguments and help him edit.  
Grantaire is a reminder, a reminder that not everyone holds their views and that not everyone will be easily swayed.  
But he's also a reminder of what happens, what happened to Icarus as he fell.  
Maybe he pities him, just a little bit.  
"Where is he?"  
"Who?"  
"Grantaire."  
Courfeyrac stared at him like he'd grown two heads, eyebrows furrowing before he chuckled.  
"He has art exams this week, they start early remember? He wanted to come but he was nearly falling asleep stood up poor thing. I left him tucked up in bed. Why'd you ask, do you worry about him?"  
"No. I simply wondered where the annoying taunt in my ear had gone."  
Maybe he did miss him, in a strange coiling feeling somewhere in his stomach, barely there but it was noticeable and made him rub at the spot just below his ribs where it aches.  
He can't explain it, he can explain politics and history, he can explain human rights and go on endlessly about the economy. But here he hits a road block. It frustrates him, it's a distraction and it grows.  
Maybe he takes his frustrations out on the object of his worries.  
-  
Grantaire looks ill.  
His face looks gaunter than normal, hollows in his cheeks more defined by darkening stubble and rings like bruises under his eyes. His lips tremble every now and then like they're going to argue with a point but he never speaks up, his hands shaking. He's fallen asleep twice.  
The worry is there again, and Enjolras' fingers fit against his ribs.  
Jehan crouches by Grantaire when Enjolras is mid speech, pacing around Joly and Bossuet’s dining table.  
Maybe if he wasn't so passionate, so into his argument, so pulled into the middle of things, he would ask what's wrong.  
But he doesn't and the words are out before he can stop them.  
"If you were just going to turn up drunk then you needn’t have bothered."  
Jehan opens his mouth but the defiant spark is back in Grantaire's eyes as he looks up and he butts in before Jehan can speak.  
"That's what you think?" Enjolras blinks.  
"It's all you ever seem to do. I don't know why you bother." He's still caught up, frustration boiling over and mixing with passion. He's blind to anything else.  
"No." Grantaire's tone is bitter and he pushes himself up unsteadily, pausing to sway and Jehan reaches up vaguely to steady him "Neither do I." The blanket is shrugged off and his lips press together, eyes shut tight. "Very well, I'm going home."  
"Do you want-" Courf goes to dig in his pocket and Enjolras frowns.  
"No, I'm going home." And Grantaire disappears out of the door, quicker than expected but still tracing one hand on the wall.  
Jehan stands up quickly, eyes dark and dangerous as he stalks across to Enjolras.  
"You don't have a clue do you?" Jehan is incensed and Enjolras isn't sure why, Courf touches his arm gently but is soon shrugged off "You just don't have any idea."  
Enjolras is taken aback, the room quiet in the new absence of Grantaire.  
"I don't know why he turns up if he's just going to be drunk, no."  
"You really didn't notice..." That's Feuilly, sitting next to Bahorel hand on the notebook he'd been taking notes in.  
"I can't believe you!" Jehan is considerably shorter than the leader, but his eyes are dark and fiery and Enjolras takes a step back "You just- You- You come in here, notice nothing, don't even bother to try and notice what is painfully obvious and just- God!" He groans in frustration and shoves Enjolras back before storming out. Courf nods his goodbyes and the room is left in awkward silence. Combeferre's arms are crossed, jaw set, Joly's face is turned into Bossuet's chest, who's staring at Enjolras in some sort of confusion. Feuilly's shaking his head while Bahorel looks more like he wants to hit someone. Enjolras clears his throat, unsure of what to do. He's not entirely sure what's happened, or why his word garnered such as reaction from everyone, so he decides on the only thing he knows.  
"Well I suppose we should move on..."  
"You don't get it do you." Bossuet murmurs.  
"The meeting's over Enjolras." Combeferre tells him firmly.  
"But-"  
"It's _over_." Enjolras stares him in shock at the tone he recognises but has never been at the receiving end of and he opens his mouth before closing it again.  
"We should get going." Feuilly says, putting his hand on Bahorel's shoulder.  
"Is anyone going to tell me what I've done wrong supposedly?"  
"We shouldn't have to."  
"Enjolras, outside. A word." Combeferre touches his arm and pulls him out the door in a way that feels gentle, but his fingers grip just a little bit too tightly and when he lets go there's a sense of pushing Enjolras away.  
"Why is everyone annoyed?" Enjolras asks.  
"Because you didn't notice and what's more you were downright rude and I know that's what you're like Enjolras, believe me, but there was no need for that. There's not really any need for the way you treat Grantaire at all but that was uncalled for because you don't see how much he tries and I'm not sure if you don't _want_ to see or if you just genuinely pay so little attention you don't notice, but he's trying so hard and you throw it back in his face more often than most men would be able to stand."  
Enjolras is silent, Combeferre's jaw is still set in a hard line but his eyes have softened.  
"I'm going to let you try and see what you did wrong, but if you can't then I suppose I'll tell you. But I wouldn't go near Bahorel or Jehan in the next couple of days because I'm not driving you to hospital. Just... Please don't be an idiot. Okay."  
"I'm not..." Enjolras protests.  
"Yes. You are. And completely blind." Combeferre shook his head "I'll see you tomorrow."

**Author's Note:**

> “Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.”  
> \- William Blake


End file.
